


Dawn

by 372259



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gendry is actually alive, Gendrya - Freeform, I promise, Post-Battle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18700045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/372259/pseuds/372259
Summary: When she sees the discarded hammer, Arya is not surprised. Because she cared for Gendry, and the people she cared for tended to die.[post 8x03]Chapter 2 "unending ghosts and unwelcome guests" Preview:"Does a girl think she can take the skills without a cost?"Jaqen's smile is cold."Does a girl forget what happened to her brother, another Stark who failed to pay their toll?"





	1. Chapter 1

**TITLE** : Dawn

 **AUTHOR:**  372259

 **FULL SUMMARY** : [post 8x03] When she sees the hammer, Arya is not surprised. Because she cared for Gendry, and things she cared for had a tendency to die.

 **PAIRINGS & CHARACTERS: **Arya and Gendry. Lots of Stark family feels with Arya & Jon, Sansa, Bran. Potentially some hints of Jon and Dany, as well as Jaime and Brienne, but will be minor.

 **DISCLAIMER:**  Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are all property of George R. R. Martin. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this.

* * *

**Dawn**

_Chapter 1 - a careful heart and a castaway hammer_

* * *

Jon engulfs her in a hug, laughing and crying. "How?"

Arya smiles into his neck. "Stuck 'em with the pointy end."

Jon laughs harder, so clearly relieved and smiling so widely that Arya almost cannot recognize him.

But she does, always will; there is forever an echo of Ned Stark in Jon Snow.

**-x-**

Sansa embraces her no less tightly.

"You survived. You saved us." Sansa holds Arya's face in her elegant hands, blue eyes misting and voice thick. "Oh, Arya. You saved us all."

If Arya squints, Sansa becomes Catelyn Stark; Arya's mother smiling down in pride despite her wayward daughter's matted hair, bloodied tunic, bruised knees, and blacksmith's hands.

**-x-**

Bran. Jon. Sansa. Just one more. One more person and she can breathe.

**-x-**

When her search yields a familiar hammer discarded next to a pile of corpses, Arya is not surprised.

(Horrified, enraged, and grief-stricken, but not surprised.)

Because she cared for Gendry, and things she cared for had a tendency to die.

So she isn't surprised. Truly, she isn't.

( _"As you wish, milady."_ )

And yet her heart still wrenches, her gut twists, and  _she_   _cannot breathe._

Sansa is saying something, but Arya cannot hear her sister's words of concern. In truth, she isn't sure she cares. Which is a terrible thing to think, because she should care, because Sansa is her family, and—

( _"I've never had a family."_ )

She approaches the hammer slowly, dazed. Perhaps if she stares at it hard enough, it will disappear and bring her friend back. She stands before it, unmoving. Her sister trails behind her. Sansa is still saying muffled words. It's an external buzzing that Arya can do without when her own thoughts are spinning so loudly. Then Sansa tries to pull at Arya's arms.

(Gendry pulled her towards him, when the sick bastards at Harrenhall wanted a break from maiming the prisoners… when they started picking out girls from the pen to rape instead.)

Arya is kneeling now, legs sinking into the damp carnage of the battle and the mucked, scattered ruins of her home. Her calloused fingers listlessly run along the dried carmine that lines the hammer and its handle. The dead didn't bleed. So this blood is his.

 _'_ _Cold.'_  She thinks numbly.  _'It's cold.'_

(But that doesn't make sense, because Gendry is always warm. Nights spent hiding and lost in the dark forests of the Riverlands were stickily wet and bone-chilling. So they'd slept together. Back to back, sharing heat, and trying to survive.)

 _'_ _Would he have lived if I had stayed beside him? If I had watched his back - the way we did for each other all those years ago - would he be here with me?'_

( _"Last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell."_ )

No. No person was ever better off by her side. After all, he came here for her and he died.

Arya's eyes burn and blur.

_'Stupid bull.'_

Sansa is shaking her shoulders now, and Arya can't handle it. She can't handle any of them and their relieved smiles because  _Gendry is dead_ and Arya is not brave enough to look for his corpse.

( _"You're the strongest person I know."_ )

Her sister's past words cruelly mock her now.

She does not mean to shove Sansa so viciously. But she does anyways. Lady Brienne is there, stalwart as always in catching her sister. The Kingslayer – Brienne's newest adjunct – seems shocked at Arya's behaviour. Arya wants to spit at him and then stab him - Lannister scum, the man who sired Joffrey, the reason the Goldcloaks chased Gendry into war. The lady knight says something with a worried voice but Arya doesn't care, she doesn't care, she doesn't care. She is sick of last words and false vows and  _he lied._

_(A careful heart and tentative gaze: "Don't die."_

_A warm smile and soft blue eyes: "As you command, milady.")_

He knows her. And as much as she loves her siblings, they don't know her. Not the her that she started to become the moment Joffrey called for her father's head. But, Gendry knows ( _'knew'_ , she amends bitterly). Not everything, but he knew that she had killed. Knew about her list. He knew her pain when Yoren and Lommy were killed. He knew Harrenhall: the smell of dead people and blood, the pig pens with rats and mud and shit to sleep on, the fear of being chosen, the lullaby of girls being assaulted and prisoners being beaten, the ringing of the Tickler's unnerving laughter, Chiswyck's suety spittle, and the Mountain's looming shadow.

Gendry knew those ugly parts of her, yet he still made her smile and he even smiled back. He didn't look at her with poorly-concealed fear nor apprehension. Like the way Sansa sometimes still did, like how Jon is starting to now. (And then there's Bran, at least what's left of Bran, who doesn't look at her with anything at all.)

Gendry looked in awe of her, actually, when her aim with his knives struck true. He looked at her with that same nerve-igniting awe when she crawled atop him and bit her lip, a half-hearted attempt to stem her burgeoning smile. Their embrace and what followed had been a voluntary lapse from her guise... a vulnerable moment she allowed because she was naive enough to think she could have a face again.

Last night ( _'last by every meaning now'_ ), a dangerously hopeful part of her had budded. It had been nurtured by his warm, thick cloak sheathing her pleasantly damp skin, as well as the sound of his content breathing as they lay side by side on the coarse sacks that had carved their actions into his back. And then it grew rapidly, and whispered recklessly to her heart that someday in the future, he would accept what she had become in Braavos. That foolish part of her chest had believed he would help her learn her own face again.

But of course, there is no future for him now. And perhaps she should never try to bring her face out again, if all it does is get cracked and ripped and torn apart. (It's already such a shattered thing, the mask of Arya Stark. She is trying, she is, and has been since she left the House; but it's getting too painful to keep holding the jagged pieces together.)

She makes her way through the courtyard, unconsciously maneuvering around the survivors that continue to search for their loved ones. She sees more than one person break down into wails by a fallen body. She meanders around those crumbling people too.

_Gendry is gone._

Arya isn't surprised.

 _'_ _He left me before. This is no different.'_

(Only it is. This time it hurts even worse.)

 _'_ _Everyone leaves.'_

Next is Jon, trying to shake her and "do not touch me" is hissed out with such vitriol that Arya does not recognize her own voice. She needs to get to the forge. She needs time with his ghost. She needs to be without the presence of Jon and Sansa and Bran - those who make her happy but guilty. Because how dare she be happy, Gendry is dead.

Her stupid, bull-headed boy.

( _"This is different…this is death."_ )

He had been right.

* * *

 

Sansa and Jon share a troubled gaze, concerned at the sight of their - suddenly mercurial - sister's back.

"I don't understand," mutters Jon.

"She needs a Maester." Sansa says sternly, for the second time.

"Aye." Jon agrees, his eyes still locked onto the retreating form of his youngest sister. He sighs deeply, remembering the shear frantic hate in her Stark-grey eyes. His little sister - who was once always underfoot. His dearest sibling, whose carefree laughter once rang out in the courtyard of Winterfell while she chased Bran or ran away from her fuming Septa. His mischievous sister, who was always plotting and sneaking sheep dung into some unsuspecting fool's shoes. His baby sister - who somehow killed  _the Night King_. "She's changed."

It's something Jon did not want to admit, but a thought that had been building since he saw her battle-battered form clutching onto a dagger at the base of a heart tree.

Sansa straightens her back. "We all did. We all  _had_  to. And right now, the North needs us. The survivors are floundering, searching and grieving. We need order. There are likely injured still out in the courtyard and beyond. You need to announce that all capable men and women must scout for the injured and bring them to the Great Hall to be treated."

Jon nods. "I will do that, as well as assign a team to line up all the dead outside the trenches. Others may identify their lost, and then Dany can burn them." His face turns grimmer. "What do we tell everyone about…" Jon nudges his head in the direction their sister went. She is gone now.

Sansa sighs. "They will laud her as a hero. And rightly so. But people want to see heroes, want to hear them speak and smile. They will want to hear her voice reassure them all that they will be okay. For reasons I cannot discern, Arya is currently incapable of doing that." Sansa looks firmly to her guard. "Brienne, you will follow her and convince her to see a Maester. Then you will take her to her chambers, where I will prepare her for an appearance in front of the others. We'll need to have a feast of some sort tonight, which I can arrange once I've seen to getting all capable healers into the Great Hall. And then—"

"She will not listen to your words until she fixes her face." Bran's aloof voice interrupts, as clear and direct as always.

Sansa stills, her voice quiet. "Her  _face_?"

Sansa's final word is imbued with a palpable horror, which confuses Jon. "Sansa, what's—"

Bran's eyes are blank. "She was always meant to settle our House's debt. And then the Guild will come for her to settle theirs."

* * *

**Please review!**

Side note: WHO IS SO BEYOND AMPED FOR 8x04 BECAUSE OF THE GENDRYA KISS IN THE PROMO?! I AM, I AM, I AM! ME, ME, ME!

Side note #2: if you like how I write Gendry and Arya, please give my other GOT/ ASOIAF fics a try :) I have two others that have gendrya as the main pairring

* * *

**Chapter 2 Preview**

"Does a girl think she can take the skills without a cost?"

Jaqen's smile is cold.

"Does a girl forget what happened to her brother, another Stark who failed to pay their toll?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

**TITLE** : Dawn

 **AUTHOR:**  372259

 **FULL SUMMARY** : [post 8x03] When she sees the hammer, Arya is not surprised. Because she cared for Gendry, and the people she cared for tended to die.

 **STORY SO FAR:** Arya beats the Night King, as per cannon. She sees Gendry's hammer and thinks he died, has a burst of rudeness towards Sansa and Jon, who are both left baffled by her mood given their victory. Bran whispers that Arya was always meant to pay House Stark's debt, and warns those listening (Jon, Sansa, Brienne, Tyrion, Jaime) that she owes a debt to the "Guild."

 **PAIRINGS & CHARACTERS: **Arya x Gendry. Lots of Stark family feels with Arya & her siblings. Potentially some hints of Jon and Dany, as well as Jaime and Brienne, but will be minor/background. Focus of this story is Gendrya.

 **DISCLAIMER:**  Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are all property of George R. R. Martin. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this.

FIRSTLY: I have a  **NEW Gendry x Arya fic**  that I will be updating alongside this one. There will be some shared elements, but they're separate stories. It's called  **Alloys of Arryn** , please check it out and let me know what you think!

SECONDLY: 8x04 killed me. Part of why it took me so long to get this chapter up (well that, and writing Alloys). The long-winded rant on how my character-driven series has been turned into a plot-driven series can be found in the second post of the new fic (if you're interested in commiserating over it.)

THIRDLY: Thank you Captain Bucky on you tube for making the BEST edited Gendrya fic I have ever seen (titled "if we had five more minutes | arya x gendry [8x4]"). Ditto for the video "Gendry & Arya | Blue Night Gone Fragile" by allureofdarkness. HIGHLY RECOMMEND them both.

FOURTHLY: I made some changes throughout chapter 1, I don't think it was anything huge, but if you want the 'full experience' LOL you might want to skim ch 1 again.

And of course:  **BIG HUGE THANKS YOU's**  to my reviewers  **GendryxArry, sebias of redwall, rihamelya c, tivvvva**  {I have other gendrya fics on my profile - they have their happy moments but they're probs classified as more angsty than fluffy LOL – but there's a happy omake below for you!},  **Robin, and fanciepenguine**  {updated ;)}

* * *

**Dawn**

_Chapter 2 - unending ghosts and unwelcome guests_

_(Part I)_

* * *

She walks into the forge the way one enters their own grave.

It's empty, but surprisingly salvaged from the battle. No corpses to be found between the thick layers of soot and ash.

 _'_ _That's good.'_  She thinks, absently.  _'Gendry will be hap—'_

Only he won't be anything anymore.

She lets out a long shuddering breath, one that rips up through her throat and sounds almost like a sob.

( _"Well, that wasn't very lady-like."_ )

Oh gods,  _it_   _hurts_.

Arya isn't sure where she is going. But she wanders deeper into the bleak caverns of the Wintefell forge. Perhaps he's left a tunic there. Something with his scent still lingering, something she can use to keep him alive for just a little bit longer.

She turns towards one of the smaller alcoves, near where she first spoke to him again after years of separation.

( _"You look good."_ )

She snorts when she remembers his words. She doesn't look so pretty  _now_ , does she? All bloodied and battle-battered, muddied and ash-stained; dewy eyes red-rimmed and dried salt sticking on her gritty cheeks. But the stupid bull wouldn't have cared. He would have probably looked even worse than her, having fought in the vanguard. If he was here, he would probably still look at her disheveled form as though she was someone worth looking at.

 _"_ _You look good." He'd say._

_His voice would be coarse and rough from battle, but his gaze would be soft when it observed her._

_"_ _You're just saying that to get under my skirt." She'd badger back. Then she'd roll her eyes, but keep walking towards him all the same._

 _"_ _Now that's just not true," he'd tease with a smirk twitching at his lips. "You don't wear skirts." And then he'd wrap one of his thick arms around her waist and tenderly bring her closer to him. His mouth would curve while angling himself for her lips, but she'd turn away at the last second. His chapped lips would meet the edge of her messy cheek instead. He'd not be deterred by her playful defiance though – he never was. Instead, he'd start trailing his hot breath down her neck, with warm open-mouthed kisses. Then he'd bring his hand up to caress her spine, using a touch that made her melt the other night._

 _"_ _Well then," she'd drawl, affecting at stubborn even as she keened her body closer to his. "You must just be saying those pretty words to get me on my back."_

_He'd snort, and she'd feel his laugh as it bubbled from his chest. "Pretty sure I was the one on my back last night, milady."_

_"_ _Don't call me that," she'd half-heartedly reprimand. And then she'd eagerly draw his face to hers, and just before their lips meet he'd say…_

 _"_ _I'll not be calling you anything anymore, milady. The dead don't speak."_

His words jar her. She blinks, he flickers.

She reaches for the ghost of him; he smiles as he fades.

 _'_ _No. No._ No _. Come back._ Please _come back.'_

Cold streams trickle down her face once more.

She can feel the desperation clawing at her throat, now. She  _needs_  to find a piece of him. She needs to hold onto him, just once more time. So she violently searches through the forge, roughly shoving away anything that she doesn't recognize.

But nothing, there's nothing.

 _'_ _A girl forgets herself. No one will always have nothing.'_

She collapses onto her knees, shaking her head to refute the familiar voice in her head.  _'My name is Arya Stark. I am not No One. Not anymore.'_

Jaqen's voice is calm, as enticing as ever.  _'Arya Stark loses everything she touches. Does a girl want a name if it all it means is loss?'_

( _"Arya"_ )

Gendry's echo saves her from the voice for now. Arya doubts his memory will keep No One away forever, but for now… for now she remembers. She remembers the way he looked when he whispered her name the night they loved each other, under quavering torch-glow and atop uneven grain sacks.

( _"You'd be milady."_ )

The unprompted memory  _sears_  her. It is painful in a way she is slowly becoming accustomed to (only not really, she doesn't believe there will ever be a way to dull this ache.)

Another memory overlaps.

( _"You will be no one's daughter, no one's wife, no one's mother… The price is you. The price is all you have and all you ever hope to have. We took your eyes and gave them back. Next we will take your ears, and you will walk in silence. You will give us your legs and crawl… Your name will be a lie, and the very face you wear will not be your own."_ )

 _'_ _Doesn't a girl remember? No One does not know pain,'_ Jaqen sweetly cajoles.

Suddenly, being faceless is as tantalizing as it was all those years ago – back when all she wanted was to leave the constant ache in her chest, to destroy all those that had hurt her.

( _"Arya"_ )

 _'_ _Just one moment.'_ She tells the voice.  _'A moment to remember, and then I will decide.'_

No One's voice smiles.  _'A girl already knows the choice she will make.'_

* * *

When the living dead that surround him collapse, the first thing Gendry does is breathe. Then the eccentric wilding fellow – Tormund – clamps onto Gendry so abruptly and forcefully that  _he cannot breathe_.

After deftly but sympathetically shrugging off the cheering wilding, Gendry runs towards the ramparts. Arya was stationed there, with the archers. And even though he remembers Jaime Lannister shouting to relieve the arrow-shooters at some point during the battle, Gendry also knows that Arya would have continued fighting orders be damned. Especially orders that came to her from a Lannister. She would not have headed Jaime; not after Yoren and Lommy, not after Harrenhal, and not after the Twins.

He runs into Davos first. They meet on the stairs, and they share a strong hug.

Davos's voice is gruff. "Good to see you among the upright."

Gendry offers a smile of relief. "You too."

( _"Thanks, you too."_ )

Davos leans back from their embrace. He firmly clasps Gendry's broad shoulder with a wide grin. "His Grace must have found some way to off the Night King." Davos lets out a disbelieving laugh. "That brooding lad must be favored by every god there ever was." The man's eyes close. "We all must be, to have survived that hell."

( _"Burn in Hell!"_ )

Gendry flinches at the memory… of the pain in her voice from the other time he was surrounded by fire, shadows, and the clanging of swords. "Ya. It was really bad."

( _"Really bad? Even a smith's apprentice can do better than really bad."_ )

Davos's raised brow mirrors the unimpressed look that Arya had gifted him more than once. Gendry shrugs. He never claimed to be a wordsmith. Regardless, his legs shake, eager to continue their search for a grey-eyed wolf-blooded girl.

"I was going to the crypts, if you wanted to come along?" Davos offers.

( _"Are_ you _going to be down in the crypt?"_ )

Gendry gives a distracted shake of his head, his eyes tracing the stone crenellations. He is  _so_  grateful that Davos, the man who saved him, who he views as a father-figure, is alive. But the need to find Arya is all-consuming; it refuses to let his attention stray. He needs to find her before she sets off to find her family, because once she is with them he may not be able to hold her for hours.

Davos, bless his observation skills, seems to understand that Gendry has someone else to find. The older man gives Gendry another reassuring pat on the shoulder before sending him off.

Gendry expects to run into her, or for her to pop up from the shadows with a quip about him being both stupid  _and_ blind. It doesn't even cross his mind that she is not among the living. She is the strongest and bravest person he has ever known. She had that distinction even when they were children, and she was batting a stick at caged murderers. ( _"They don't scare me."_ )

After all, even when he thought her lost at the Red Wedding, they found each other once more.

So Gendry expects to find her, or for her to find him.

He doesn't expect to trip over a broken staff.

He frowns.

 _'_ _That's strange. It almost looks like—'_

 _Oh_.

His chest tightens, like when Tormund had barreled into him. Only worse,  _so much worse_. Because he can't speak, he can't breathe, he can't see; he feels himself being gutted with every second his gaze lingers on the weapon missing its owner.

( _"I know death."_ )

* * *

She sees him bloodied and bruised but  _breathing_ on the floor, next to familiar bags of grain. He is crouched over, knees pulled almost to his chest, with his stare fixated on something in his hand.

She looks closer and  _'oh.'_

It was her spear. What was left of it, at least.

She takes a step forward, and she lets it be loud.

When his gaze shifts up to her, she notes that his eyes are wet and red. He uses his grimy hands to rub the tears away. Disbelief narrows his eyes and parts his mouth.

**-x-**

They stare at each other, eyes locked and bodies still.

They breathe.

And then… and then they  _collide_.

**-x-**

Arya is truly crying, now.

Big wet tears that stream down her face freely, not stopped by her will or her hands. She's doesn't even  _remember_  the last time she shed tears before today, but she is too relieved to regret them or hide them. Her legs lock around Gendry's torso, her arms wrap around his shoulders, and her face buries itself in the curve of his shoulder. She can feel his breath on her neck. Gendry is here, in front of her, and he isn't fading.

"Arya."

He says her name and she shoves No One's voice far, far away.

"Gods, Arya. I am so—"

She cuts his words off with her lips.

His mouth tastes of iron and salt. His skin tastes of war and death. His hand is warm as it thrusts itself under her tunic and splays across her bare back. He tears his mouth from hers, and drags it across the base of her neck. She moans, her own hands pawing at the short strands on his scalp. Her nails dig into his skin, and the guttural way he moans her name sets her senses aflame.

She yanks his face back up to hers. If their first kiss was relief, then this one is all desperation. Frantic and deep, the brief moments they use to suck air into their lungs are filled with broken words.

"Don't leave me." / "Never."

"I'm yours." / "Always yours"

"Need you."/ "Forever."

She doesn't know what words are his or what words are hers. They're a tangle of promises and limbs and aching souls. They tear into each other, needing physical proof that they are not seeing ghosts in their grief.

(She had been numb for  _years_  – the feelings he can inspire from her are a revelation. They are proof of the salvation she could have as  _someone._ )

Her back meets a wall. It hurts. Because they're both banged up and damaged (in more ways than one). They  _should_  be going to see some healer about their injuries. But him here with her, now – this is healing her deepest wound.

There is a grunt and a gasp and a husky " _more_."

She makes to untie the laces of his breeches when he abruptly pulls himself away from her. His chest is heaving, hers is too.

"You're hurt." He says, eyes locked onto the blood that has baked on her forehead.

"So are you." She responds offhandedly, as she reaches for his laces again.

To her immense frustration, his hands take ahold of her wrists and stop their advance.

His voice is gruff. "I'll not hurt you further."

She smirks. "I'm not afraid of pain."

"Sometimes I worry that's all you've ever known." His eyes soften. When she sees the almost-pity that flashes across them, Arya just barely contains herself from scratching them off his face. He doesn't see her anger though, his gaze held firmly by her neck.

"What happened?"

(There are oval shaped burns on her neck, from where the Night King nearly killed her. Four painted on one side, and one painted on the other. They are ugly, forever things.)

Arya smirks. "I killed the Night King."

"Of course you did."

He looks at her with such affection, awe, and pride that Arya feels her cheeks grow warm. Her eyes wander from his tender gaze, and land on the now-forgotten broken staff. "Afterwards… I found your hammer. It was next to a pile of corpses. I thought…"

Arya doesn't dare voice it, lest she open her eyes and be alone again.

When his hands loosen their grip on her wrists, she brings her newly freed hands up to trace the stubble lining his jaw. She has never begged for anything since returning to Westeros. She has demanded, she has taken, and once or twice she has even asked. But she has never begged.

" _Please_."

* * *

Gendry knows he should not cave so easily to her, but her breathy plead already has his body leaning towards hers, eager to feel her again.

She is probably hiding more injuries than he can see, so he tries – he truly does – to stop himself. "You need a Maester." It's a reminder to her as much as himself.

"You. I need you."

Again, Gendry knows he should not yield to her request. But  _gods_ , he is a man and the woman he loves but can never have is throwing herself at him, making him promises between kisses that he knows her family will never let her keep. He does not have the strength to turn her away, especially not when she will undoubtedly be taken from him soon… not when, an embrace ago, he was certain he had already lost her.

He slowly takes one of her small hands from his jaw.

He brings it gently to his chest. "My heart is yours."

Then he brings it up to his lips, kissing the pale side of her wrist. "My life is yours."

He brings her face to his, foreheads touching. "Everything I am is yours."

When her breath hitches, he catches it with his own.

* * *

Brienne already by his side, the first thing Jaime thought of when the wights fell was to check in on Tyrion. When his brother wearily climbed out of the crypts side-by-side with an equally weary Lady Sansa, both he and Brienne had let out audible exhales of relief.

They had walked towards the godswood while listening to Tyrion's chilling recount of the rising corpses in the crypts (' _The brightest minds in Westeros stood around a table, and yet we placed the unarmed in a closed space lined with corpses, against an enemy known for raising the dead?_ ) They four had only just exited the courtyard, when they met up with the remaining of Ned Stark's children.

The youngest Stark girl's gaze had been empty. Perhaps only the smallest tinge of relief once she clung to her older sister. But then, as if taken by a spell, she had stepped away from their group and purposefully walked past them and towards the courtyard. Jaime had seen her eyes change; they had been anxiously searching for something… or  _someone_. The group had trailed behind her, listening as Jon recounted the events of the godswood and Sansa relayed the story from the crypts.

It was when Sansa was telling the story he had just heard, that his gaze wandered back to the girl who slayed the Night King.  _Arya Stark._

Jaime had seen the girl's stoicism at their strategy meetings – blank as parchment despite the daunting battle, her youngest brother's foreboding warnings, etcetera – and yet, when her eyes locked onto a discarded hammer in the courtyard, her face  _crumpled._

She had knelt, stroking the blood layering the castaway weapon. He wondered why she was so concerned by the blood – it wasn't surprising to Jaime. The wights that were recently reanimated still had the red liquid stilted in their veins.

The Lady of Winterfell had approached her sister, and – as any battle veteran would know – made the mistake of shaking the girl's shoulders from behind. Brienne, also expecting an unfavorable reaction, caught Sansa easily when Arya shoved the redhead back with furious misted-over eyes.

Arya Stark –  _'the Dawn-Breaker'_ , according to her all-knowing brother – made to leave the courtyard. Jon Snow exacerbated the situation further when he made the mistake of trying to pull her out of her mood. She had hissed back with such dark ferocity that even Jaime flinched.

And then she left.

Sansa doled out her instructions. And Jaime self-appointed himself to tag along with Brienne, despite the taller blonde's protestations. Jaime had rolled his eyes fondly at her opposition. "I'll help you get the girl, and then we can help with the survivors."

In truth, Jaime had been more than a little concerned. Brandon Stark possessed the uncanny ability to flippantly spout out others' long-held secrets and desires. The boy's ominous warnings about debts, and Sansa's terrified reaction to the boy's words, made Jaime concerned that there was something…  _strange_  about the youngest Stark girl.

And he didn't want Brienne to have to face it alone.

It takes the duo embarrassingly long to find her, but Jaime justifies that it is because they stop - more than a few times - to help the injured soldiers they encounter reach a soldier capable of taking them to the Great Hall.

But eventually, they find her.

More specifically, they find her pressed against a pillar, in the ardent embrace of a young man.

" _Lady Arya!?_ " Brienne's mortified reaction is too comical. Jaime nearly laughs aloud, but the sound dies and early death in his throat the moment the lovers turn.

_Ghosts._

Jaime feels the blood leave his face.

He had only been a young squire when he saw Lyanna at Harrenhall, but he would never forget the girl – the one with a lit fuse placed in her lap, disguised as a crown of roses. And Jaime still remembers Robert before he became a drunken whore-mongering waste of space; he remembers the man's robust, powerful form when he stormed into the throne room after winning the Battle of the Trident.

The two before him now… they are Lyanna and Robert come again.

Bran Stark's previous words echo in Jaime's ears _. "She was always meant to settle our House's debt."_

(The boy's knowledge is blood-chilling.)

The brown-haired girl turns to face them. She raises an uninterested brow at the intruders, clearly uncaring of the fact that Jaime and Brienne have just walked in on her. In fact, she  _still_  has one hand under the lad's tunic, and the other down the front of his britches. The Robert-faced boy, on the other hand, he somehow manages to turn pale and flushed all at once. He removes his own arms from under her shirt, and makes to step away from her touch. However, the girl's hands leave their posts and quickly clutch onto his arms instead to keep him close to her.

"You will not say a word to my sister. Do you understand?"

Her words are ice.

Brienne is speechless, trying to process the state of her charge, while Jaime is still trying to pull his mind out of the past. The girl's eyes narrow when the knights don't respond.

"Speak a word of this to her or my brother, and I will cut out your tongues."

Whereas the girl's grey-eyes are focused on the interlopers, the boy is staring at her. When she demands that the two knights keep their silence, the boy's face flinches; he is heartbroken, but unsurprised and accepting. Jaime understands. For a time, he was in love with someone who refused to acknowledge him too.

Brienne opens her mouth, and looks as though she is about to be honest (her default), so Jaime intervenes. "We could be persuaded… if you accompanied us to your chambers, my Lady. Your sister wishes to ready you for the feast tonight."

Arya scowls at them, and makes to take the dark-haired boy with her.

The lad mediates before Brienne can say something that Jaime is sure the wild girl will make her regret.

"It's okay, Arya. I should help the rest, for now. And you need a Maester."

The girl's scowl softens when she looks at him. "So do you."

He taps her chin affectionately with his hand. "I'll go to the Great Hall and get myself checked up after I help the others out."

Arya's eyes taper. She bites her lip. "I'll come back for you later."

He (bravely, if the colour of Brienne's face is anything to go by) kisses the girl's forehead. "Aye, later."

The lad's words are indulgent. Once Brienne tells Sansa or, gods forbid, her  _brother…_  Jaime and the boy both know that there will be no later.

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So I know I promised Faceless Men, and they ARE coming, I promise! I literally already have the scene written, and there's this head-cannon idea I have for that scene between Jaqen and Jon that I  **REALLY**  want to share with everyone because I don't think I've seen it done before. The reason for the delay is that I thought of a pseudo-Acorn Hall scene that only makes sense to include if I include it before the Faceless Men are introduced, and I need to finish writing it. I just figured you guys would rather a half done chapter rather than none? *sweat drop

As an apology for not making good on the preview, and for the reviewer  **tivvvva**  who needed some happy gendrya - please see the cutesy omake that's been chilling in a draft folder on my desktop below.

 **Review pretty please!** Thoughts, likes, dislikes, mistakes?

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**OMAKE**

**"No** **Pets at the Dinner Table"**

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**(mostly written to prove to myself that I have the capacity to write non-angst, non-dark things)**

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Arya turns to Gendry. She bends her head to the side, and her brows sharpen in consternation. "You should grow your hair back."

Gendry's hand leaves his fork to run over his shortened locks. He grins teasingly. "Not pretty enough for you, milady?"

Arya playfully smacks his chest with her spoon. Then she curves her mouth into a positively wicked smirk. Arya leans towards the taller man, using the back of her spoon to trace his neck. "Actually, I just wouldn't mind having something to hold onto at night when you—"

"Enough!" Jon yells, smacking his own fork and spoon onto the table. "Good gods,  _enough_. My ears, Seven help me,  _my ears._ "

Sansa snorts. There is a mocking tilt to her lips. It's clear to the four seated around the table that she is enjoying Jon's turmoil  _immensely_. "Arya's not four anymore, Jon."

Jon turns to Sansa and scowls, whipping his fork around to punctuate his words. "She is  _forever_  four in my mind.  _Four_."

Sansa arches an amused brow. "A four-year-old with a husband? How novel."

Jon shrugs. "A pet." His eyes narrow at his in-law. "One with a lifespan that's dwindling down by the minute."

Sansa rolls her eyes before returning to her meal.

Gendry leans back in his chair, visibly distressed.

Arya seems lost in her thoughts. "A pet, huh?" She leers at the broad form of her husband. "I could think of some fun ways to use a leash—"

"Oh,  _seven_   _hells_." Jon groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Gendry blusters, trying to diffuse the situation and hasten the meal. "M-Maybe we should move on to dessert?"

Arya opens her mouth, eyes gleaming. To her disappointment, Jon has already left the table with his hands covering both ears, repeating " _four_ " to himself as emphatically as he can.

Sansa sighs, exasperated. "He can be so dramatic. Lemon cake, anyone?"

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**Please don't forget to review if you want more!**


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